Page 76 of Lost in the Never Woods

Wendy’s chest ached for them, the scene all too familiar.

She walked to the driveway, barely paying attention to where she was going, eyes glued to the scene next door. Was this how her own house had looked? Had her mother and father had the same expressions on their faces? It was almost like déjà vu, the same terrible echo through the universe.

Before she could even start to worry about how she was going to find Peter, she caught a glimpse of someone standing by her truck. She jolted to a stop, far too wary of strangers hovering in her driveway, but then she saw the shock of auburn hair and realized it was Peter.

He stood leaning against the door of her car, out of sight of the police officers next door. He was hunched in a way that, at first, suggested he was hiding from view, but there was something wrong. His expression was strained, and he was curled around his stomach, his hands pressed into his side.

Wendy rounded the truck, her eyes immediately searching for him. “Peter, what’s wrong?”

He looked sick, like he hadn’t slept in days. There were dark purple circles under his eyes that looked more like bruises. His lids were puffy, his blue eyes bright, bloodshot and glassy. His hair was a mess, as if any effort to tame it was just too much.

Peter, who brimmed with light and was constantly flitting around like a hummingbird, was changed. There was a small crease between his eyebrows and his shoulders were hitched up to his ears, his back curved as if he were trying to protect himself from a biting wind. His already full bottom lip was swollen and split down the center with a thin, wet line of crimson.

Wendy’s heart fluttered. “Jesus, what happened to you?” she whispered, reaching out to tilt his chin. When he winced back, she saw a bloom of red on his jaw, promising a bruise.

“It’s nothing. I’m okay,” Peter said. He tried to conjure up a smile, but even that looked pained. As he pushed himself from the car door, he swayed on his feet. Wendy rushed forward and caught his sides, trying to help steady him, but Peter sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth. His face twisted in pain, his hands pressing gingerly to his stomach.

She quickly withdrew her hands. “What happened to you?” she repeated, her voice harsh with worry. Wendy glanced over her shoulder, stepping closer to Peter as she tried to shield him from the gathering next door. “Come on,” she said, trying to make her voice sound gentler as she pulled him toward the side of the house, where no one could see them. “Tell me what happened.” Her eyes darted from his shoulders, to his arms, to his face.

Peter’s chin dipped, sending his hair splaying across his forehead, hiding his eyes from view. “I went after my shadow last night,” he mumbled.

“What?” Wendy hissed. Her hand went straight to his arm, gripping him before she could realize what she was doing. “Sorry!” she said, withdrawing quickly. She growled and dragged her fingers through her hair. “Why would you do that, Peter?” she demanded.

He shrugged, looking miserable and chastised as he leaned against a trash can. “I thought I could take it on my own. I thought…” He glanced furtively at Wendy. “I thought if I could just do it myself, then you wouldn’t have to—”

“No!” Wendy cut him off. “We were supposed to go together so I could help you! You could’ve gotten hurt—you did get hurt!” Wendy gestured at him and Peter cringed. She wanted to scream and shout at him for doing something so incredibly stupid and reckless, but she couldn’t with all those people next door.

“I thought I could do it,” he repeated. “But it was just too powerful.” Peter’s breathing was uneven and short. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled up the bottom of his shirt. Cresting over the tanned skin, just above his hip, bloomed an array of bruises. Purple, blue, and bright red grouped together like galaxies.

Immediately, she felt like a complete asshole for yelling at him. “Oh, Peter…” Lightly, she touched the bruise with her fingers, but he flinched back. Wendy’s skin crawled with a boiling mix of anger and fear. The shadow was capable of doing this? What else would it do? To her? To Peter? To the kids it had taken? To her brothers?

“It’s getting stronger,” Peter told her before tugging his shirt back down. “And I’m only getting weaker.” A shudder rolled through him, as if it physically repulsed him to admit it. Peter’s eyelids were half shut as he stared at the ground. “It just tossed me around like I was nothing.” Peter rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye. “I can feel my magic draining out of me,” he mumbled. “I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.” He frowned and his eyes roved over her body. “Are you okay? It didn’t come after you, did it?” A spark of intensity crossed his face.

“No,” Wendy said quickly with a shake of her head. She’d been safe and sound in her room last night, but that did little to comfort her. The thought of Peter, alone in the woods, being attacked by the shadow was enough to make her sick. She should’ve been there to protect him. She shouldn’t have left him. She should’ve made him come home. Wendy swallowed down a lump in her throat. She hated herself for letting him go.

“We’re in this together, okay?” Wendy insisted, stepping closer to Peter, making him look her in the eyes. “No more going off on your own. We beat it together, or not at all, just like you said, right?” Peter looked miserable and unconvinced. “You’re not the only one with something to lose,” she told him.

Peter held her gaze. She realized how close they were standing, Peter leaning against a trash can and she standing between his knees. There was a low rush in her belly. Warmth flooded her face.

Peter’s eyes drifted from hers, down to her mouth, and then to her neck.

A tired grin curled the corners of his lips. “Hey, you found it,” he murmured.

He was staring at the acorn she wore around her neck. “Yeah, I-I did,” Wendy stammered, and she quickly came back to reality. “I mean, I’ve always had it,” she corrected herself, holding it in the palm of her hand. “I just kept it in a jewelry box.” Some of Peter’s light seemed to slowly start returning. “I wore it around my neck last night when I fell asleep, and I had this dream—but it was a memory—about Neverland, and my brothers, and you.” Wendy looked up into Peter’s face. “I remembered you giving it to me. Do you remember that?”

Dimples pressed gently into Peter’s cheeks as he took the acorn between his thumb and forefinger. “Of course I do,” he said. Their bowed heads and close bodies made a small alcove. “I gave it to you so you wouldn’t forget me, you know, when you came back here. I mean, it clearly didn’t work,” he added with an airy laugh. He glanced up at her then, face close, eyes watching her so intently that she almost moved away. “But now that you’ve found it again, I guess it’s helping you start to get your memories back…” Peter’s smile was small and tight.

Wendy bit down on her bottom lip. Did that mean that all this time, she could’ve just used the acorn to get her memories back? She’d spent years without them, hating herself for not being able to remember when everyone asked her questions she didn’t know the answers to, when they accused her of lying, when she became a social outcast. This could change everything. She could get more of her memories back now. For some reason Wendy’s heart fluttered in her chest and her head swam.

“When you gave this to me,” Wendy said, changing the subject and thinking back to how Peter had looked in her memory, “did you already know you were going to have to take us home?”

Peter nodded. “I could tell things were going wrong in Neverland—it wasn’t safe for you to stay any longer,” he said, watching her carefully.

“It was so weird to see them so clearly,” Wendy told him. He gave her a sad smile. She sighed and stepped back. “There’s a lot I need to tell you. Two more kids went missing last night, and the cops are starting to search the woods.” Peter’s smile faded. “We need to find that tree, and your shadow, fast.” Wendy glanced toward the front of the house. With sudden determination, she tugged on Peter’s arm. “Come on,” Wendy said as she led him from the side of the house to the driveway. Checking to make sure no one was looking in their direction, she guided him to her truck and opened the door.

Peter obediently slid into the passenger seat. He sat up straight, suddenly looking much more awake as he peered at the dashboard. “I’ve never been in a car before,” he confessed, his fingers brushing over the knobs of the stereo.

“Technically, you were in an ambulance,” Wendy pointed out.